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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144395">hypothesis</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/alderations/pseuds/alderations'>alderations</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober/Mechtober 2020 [21]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mechanisms (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chronic Pain, Gen, Headaches &amp; Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Mechtober, Medical Conditions, Whumptober 2020, alder has been messing around on wikipedia again, theres a bit of weird speculation about potential medical weirdness in here idk how to phrase that</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:35:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/alderations/pseuds/alderations</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Before she can make it even halfway to the library, the pain behind her eyes starts flashing, dark and blurry, across her vision. “Fuck,” she hisses, leaning against the wall and rubbing her eyes. “Aurora?”</p><p>(Whumptober Day 21: chronic pain; Mechtober Day 19-21: smoke)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ivy Alexandria &amp; The Aurora</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober/Mechtober 2020 [21]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hypothesis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>To Ivy’s immense surprise, Ashes has been in the kitchen for four hours, and not a single Mechanism has died during that time. They’ve mostly been hovering over their new toy: a massive charcoal smoker taking up half the kitchen space, with a chimney that disappears up into the ceiling and, according to Aurora, vents into space on an airlock system. Ivy’s not sure whether she actually believes that, but it’s better than just filling the kitchen with smoke. A controlled, purpose-driven fire is apparently the best way to keep Ashes busy in a non-destructive way. She’s not even sure what they’re cooking, but it smells delightful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, as soon as she thinks that, Ashes opens the lid of the damn thing and lets a giant gust of smoke out. They hardly react, since they’ve got a lungful of smoke more often than not, but when it wafts toward Ivy, she has to take a step back and wave the ash out of her face, fighting the tears in the corners of her eyes. “Ashes,” she snaps, “some </span>
  <em>
    <span>warning </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be nice!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” they reply, absent-minded. “Just checking on the fish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where they managed to find fish in deep space, Ivy doesn’t want to know. “I might have to… leave. Do you mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashes looks up at her, finally, and frowns. “You okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I mean. Migraine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They have the decency to look guilty, at least, but they nod and turn back to their grilling as Ivy flees the kitchen. She’s well aware that a mechanical brain shouldn’t be able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>migraines, but that doesn’t make her head hurt any less. By now, she’s learned that they’re usually triggered by smell—smoke, gunpowder, gasoline, smoke. Always smoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she can make it even halfway to the library, the pain behind her eyes starts flashing, dark and blurry, across her vision. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she hisses, leaning against the wall and rubbing her eyes. “Aurora?”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Do you need help, Ivy?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t see anything,” she admits. “Can you help me to the library?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In lieu of a response, Aurora reaches out with a tentative cable and grabs Ivy’s hand. The smooth wire against her hand isn’t remotely comparable to another person’s skin, and at the moment, she’s glad for it. Aurora leads her down the hallway as slowly as she needs, keeping her close enough to the wall that she has somewhere to lean when she stumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Your migraines are becoming more frequent.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy frowns and squeezes the wires holding her hand. “Somewhat, yes. I’ve been logging how often I get them. Not that I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>forget.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>I have a hypothesis, if you’re interested.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” They get to a bend in the corridor, and Aurora extends another few cables to steady Ivy, who’s starting to sway on her feet. If she lets her focus stray from Aurora’s voice, she swears she can feel her brain sitting heavy and hard and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong </span>
  </em>
  <span>inside her skull.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Neurogenesis in humans generally halts by the mid-twenties, so neurons don’t replace themselves the way most of your other cells do.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“So they’re getting worn out, or…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>There are exceptions. The brain continues to produce new olfactory bulb cells into adulthood.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Realization strikes, though it’s dim and fuzzy through the building pain in Ivy’s head. “You think my flesh body is trying to make new brain cells.”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>It is a possibility. The doctor is generally very tidy with her work, however, so I would not have expected her to leave any loose brain tissue lying around in there.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy wrinkles her nose. “I don’t have much data to base this assumption on, but I don’t believe that having neurons growing directly into my mechanism will improve my quality of life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aurora doesn’t respond, which is agreement in and of itself. She continues to guide Ivy, supporting her with more and more wires around her arms and back, not because Ivy needs them, but because Aurora’s affection is an overpowering force. Once she’s in the library, Ivy sinks into the chair behind her desk, gripping the armrests with trembling fingers. “I have several books on neuroanatomy. If I link you the spISBNs, will you bring them over here so I can read them? Later?”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>I’ll read them to you, if you’d like.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy smiles and tips her head to rest on one of the cables caressing her shoulder. “I’d like that.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this one's super short because I am currently experiencing Symptoms TM and can't really think or function much. Alas. This IS, however, a bit of a sneak preview-ish for an idea that I've been ruminating over, which is that the Mechs' flesh bodies just. try to grow around/into their mechanisms. like those pictures of trees growing over old road signs? I plan to expand on that idea in the future, but my to-do list is getting frankly ridiculous at this point.</p><p>Leave comments in hopes that they convince my body to behave how a human flesh body should? find me on tumblr @alderations and also stay hydrated. goodnight ily all</p></blockquote></div></div>
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